The Passage of Shadows
by WHS72
Summary: In the wake of the brutal murder of a renown art dealer in France, Inspector Carmelita Fox finds herself in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with an unknown enemy. Having nowhere else to turn, she seeks the aid of the remnants of the Cooper Gang after her adversary's plans show promise of volatile global repercussions. Who is to be trusted, and who is to be made an enemy? Rated M


**I would foremost want to say that I was very critical and nervous of my first attempt at a story. Now, I am confident in my writing and wish to create an enjoyable piece of entertainment for all of you who chance to read my redux. I've tried to expand my use of diction and revamp my overall syntax throughout my paragraphs. I thank those who have provided feedback; it was greatly appreciated.**

**Chapter 1: Reflection**

I tapped my finger gently on the armrest, watching the lines of drooping trees and bewildered fields part for the occasional farmhouse or road. The French countryside stretched out in the distance, grasping at the steadily climbing sun that was topping over the ridge in front of us in a brilliant dazzle of orange and blue. The car slowed and turned down an enclosed dirt trail, passing by a rustic iron gate that once stood proud and tall. It was now leaning unfavorably in the wooded area near the turnoff. The trail drifted through the mesh work of branches and trees, eventually opening up into a wide, u-shaped field. Towards the top of the highest point of the hill rested a mansion of sorts, its long, elegant windows beaming the sunlight into an open courtyard. Steeples grew from the main structure, reflecting Gothic stylings but retaining the subtle grace and curve that matched the base of the house. Enclosing the estate was a large, wrought-iron fence, now overgrown with the reaching vines and leafs that stretched from the outside. The car pulled up to the entrance of the estate, another shabby fence that clung barely to its hinges. The only item out of place was a thin line of police tape that crossed the gate, along with a half a dozen vehicles that were scattered across the courtyard. I stepped out of the car onto the packed dirt that formed a trail before the main gate. Winthrop trailed closely, taking in the monumental towers and refined windows of the estate. I hurriedly pushed the gate open and crossed under the police tape, barely taking a moment to wonder at the estate's age and finesse. The truth was that I had been there before, but the year that had passed since made it feel like a lifetime. The mansion dated back to the mid-18th Century during the rule of the royals. Surviving the French Revolution and two World Wars, it had fallen into the possession of the LeBlanc Family. A wealthy circle of aristocrats, they had converted much of the estate's use to art. The current owner of the mansion, Renard J. LeBlanc, was known throughout France for dealing in high valued pieces of art. That detail had sufficed to create an investigation that I had been assigned to more than a year ago. Renard had been accused of dealing black-market pieces and forgeries, as well as collaborating with Le Paradox and Sir Raleigh. Under intense scrutinization, and a lack of solid evidence, the case was a botch. Renard, however, publicly announced he would retire from art dealing and focus his attention towards the management of his estate. Sadly, it seems, he was unable to accomplish his goal. The mansion, however elegant, was still overgrown with vines. The roof was in decay, and most of the paint on the outside of the structure was chipping. Opening the ornately carved oak doors, we transitioned from concrete to finished wood in the main parlor. One would imagine the inside to be illustriously decorated, with priceless pieces of art hung from the walls of a man who considered them trifles compared to his own wealth. In a sense, it was exactly that. Beige walls instantly absorbed the paintings that clung to them with desperation, but it was obvious something was amiss. Many of the paintings were thrown askew, glass scattered across the floor and blood splotches that clung hungrily to the walls dripped to the floor below. A lone body lay in the parlor, dressed in all black and covered in a white sheet from head to toe. I thought for a moment that Renard had been killed before he knew what had happened.

"Fox!"

I looked up and watched Barkley move through two forensic workers and stop at the end of the parlor.

"Chief Inspector Barkley..."I ducked my head slightly, remembering our last meeting hadn't ended on the best of terms. He motioned forward with his hand, paying little attention to the body and the evident tension.  
"It's not who you think it is, follow me." Without waiting for my acknowledgment, he turned away and proceeded deeper into the mansion.

"So far it seems pretty cut and dry; multiple assailants broke in sometime last night and tried to make off with some fine art. The guy in the front is Albanian,Farid Ashraf, probably a gun for hire trying to make a quick buck. I'm guessing our friend didn't make it far." It was apparent the struggle had carried far past the parlor; rooms I had since seen finely crafted were now torn apart and destroyed. Another body was sprawled across a low railing, also dressed in black and covered in a sheet.

"Second perp is Louis Robbichard; he dealt with Renard for a while until he got burned on a forgery a couple years back. He was probably out to get some payback." The floor around the body was soaked with blood, now dark and coagulated in a thick puddle. Barkley then began to scale a staircase that spiraled upward, refined by a wood and marble handrail that accompanied it. We passed a pair of coroners, both at work on another covered body. Barkley passed this one without saying a word, but stopped at the next floor.

"Third perp is the guy who, well..." I reached the top of the stairs and gasped, almost tumbling backwards at the sight before me. There was Renard, a handsome badger dressed in a simple grey shirt and slacks. I remember the last time I had met him; he was polite and charmed but was quick to take hostility towards any accusations. Most would say he had a love for his art more than anything else. His hands and feet were bound, tied to an ornate chair that i could only assume came from his dining room. His shirt was speckled with dark blood, and multiple stab wounds shown through. The wounds looked moderately survivable, and a quick trip to the hospital could have saved his life. The killshot was a single bullet that ripped through his forehead and scattered his brain matter across the wall behind him. his throat was also cut, a fountain of blood had run down the front of his shirt to his chest. His eyes, despite being glassed over, were wide with shock; his mouth open in a gasp of surprise. Looking at this terrified me; Renard wasn't the kind of person to make a lot of enemies. Maybe a bad art deal here and there, but nothing that would warrant a hit.

"Oh god..." Barkley shook his head slightly, eyeing the lifeless corpse of the badger.

"Yeah, poor bastard. He might have been a prick, but he didn't deserve this..."He trailed off; no need to explain the obvious atrocity before us. Barkley walked back down the stairs and entered the room that held the third body.

"This guy was another hired gun, Raul Ybarra. The cause of death was a single round to the head, back of the skull. Didn't even see it coming..."

"Or didn't expect it." I chimed in, and Barkley nodded in agreement. He walked forward and gazed at the floor near the doorway. It was becoming very apparent this was more than just a simple art theft. Or one of the thieves got greedy real quick.

"That's assuming we had at least four people here. Provided Renard took out the two downstairs, that leaves at least one more suspect. I know Renard spent some time in mixed martial arts; he knew how to handle himself in a fight. I don't know what to make of it. We don't have an I.D. at the moment for the bastard who did this."

"Did Renard have a security system? Cameras, sensors, anything?" I suggested that finding some video evidence wouldn't be such a bad idea, but Barkley shook his head in disappointment.

"Cameras and security feed were both fried. The sensors were also off; Renard hadn't expected to be gone long. We also checked his safe; money, bank notes and bonds are all missing. Whoever did this was greedy, really greedy." I watched as the two coroners prodded the body, gently driving a large thermometer into the coyote's stomach.

"We've got forensics checking the bodies; average body temperature will give us a round about time of when they died..." I pondered the thought before absently snapping my fingers at my idea.

"We can run a trace on what Renard was doing last night; at home, an art premiere, anything..."Barkley clued in almost immediately.  
"...and that'll let us know if they broke in..."

"Or if they were waiting for him." I walked back to Renard's slumped body and pictured the brutality needed to inflict that much damage. Could a group like this surprise a man who had spent half of his life with suspicion and skepticism, who had an eye for detail and could see something was wrong?

"Has his family been contacted?" Barkley approached from behind as more cars pulled into the drive; most of them other police vehicles or news vans.  
"Who we could find; they're all taking it pretty hard." I looked out the window as well, watching the edge of the field be overtaken by clouds as the last police car entered through the gate.  
"Hmph, who wouldn't?" Barkley started to walk back down the stairs when I confronted him.

"Sir, I know it's not my place, but why am I here? Why call INTERPOL on a regular crime scene? I understand I had investigated Renard before, but we came up empty." He sighed and turned to face me, a slight smirk on his face.

"I knew you were too stubborn to come here on a regular case, so it's about time I filled you in. We recently acquired some substantial evidence that proves Renard had dealt art with Le Paradox and Raleigh. Whether or not he knew that they operated illegally, well, I assume he suspected something. With the money flowing as it did, I imagine he looked the other way. Renard also had some forgeries in his possession, crafted by Dimitri Lousteau. Tracking his financial history, he never purchased any of them directly. We're guessing Dimitri gave them away as gifts, but nothing suggests that Renard actually bought the paintings." Barkley walked forward and eased a hand onto my shoulder.

"I know we haven't seen eye to eye lately, but I need you for this one. You knew more about Renard than any of us; I asked for you personally. Just...be ready. I'll send you information as I get it." I nodded quickly, feeling my stomach churn as I looked at Renard's body again. Walking towards the staircase, I began my descent when I felt his hand stop me.  
"One more thing..." I waited as he tried to suppress an irritable look, letting the words slowly sift in his brain.

"The last man to deal with Renard was Arthur Pembridge. You might know him better as a former Cooper Gang member." Barkley drew a photo from his coat pocket and thrust it into my hand. Viewing the photo, it was apparent it was taken from a closed circuit camera and from a considerable distance. However, the hat, glasses, and mustache did very little to conceal the dealer's true identity, and the wheelchair was unmistakeable.

"Bentley?" Barkley nodded, turning to greet the approaching forensics investigators and mob of media personnel but turning his head back at the last moment.

"Do what you can, I'll keep in touch."

**I can say that I am thoroughly excited to be up and writing again, and I will try to post more often than I did with Downpour. I encourage any and all reviews, comments, etc. They are all appreciated. I would also like to say that as I introduce new OC's, I may assign a particular actor/voice actor to them. Having a known voice for a character helps with the process. I understand many may have a problem with this, and i encourage those to use whatever voices they so choose. I am writing this to entertain all of you; I won't restrict your conceptions of a character, they will simply be my suggestions. Please feel free to voice any opinions or suggestions you may have, I'm open to anything. For now, y'all take care and I'll talk to y'all soon!**


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